


Never Say Never Again

by Rigel99



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: James Bond as M, M/M, Q as a Revelation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: I wrote this a wwhhiilleee ago as part of my 00Q Moments snippets. It got a little love on Tumblr (@ohmsservice) last week, prompting me to revisit and see where it goes. I have a clear overview of the story path so fingers crossed my muse plays along...
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 41
Kudos: 58





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dassandre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).



> I wrote this a wwhhiilleee ago as part of my 00Q Moments snippets. It got a little love on Tumblr (@ohmsservice) last week, prompting me to revisit and see where it goes. I have a clear overview of the story path so fingers crossed my muse plays along...

It had been two years since Bond had thrown off the shackles of MI6. Two years since he'd walked its hallowed corridors.

Deep in the folds of a once weary, recently reinvigorated mind, he'd suspected he would return. But not like this.

Not as M.

"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in," he murmured to no one but himself, a small private smile playing on his lips, riding the elevator from Six's garage to the top floor where his "new" office awaited him. Well. New for him. He'd been there many times for a dressing down. He never imagined he'd soon be standing on the other side of the large mahogany beast that dominated the room.

He exited the lift on its gentle ping and strolled the brief distance towards his new responsibilities. He'd missed the thick of the action when he'd first departed - on a bang of course - but his time with Madeleine had proved useful. He was getting on after all. She'd helped him see there was life beyond dodging a hail of bullets. He never thought she'd be the one to leave him though. Fell for the agent, changed the agent, fell out of love with the man.

Oh well. At least _that_ one didn't die.

"Good morning, Miss Moneypenny."

"M," she replied, smoothly professional as always. "Welcome back, James," she said with a small smile.

Bond stood in front of her, her desk between them. "I'd like to say it's good to be back, but we'll see," he returned. Her smile broadened. Sometimes a shared history could be a positive thing in this job. Bond glanced towards the door to his office.

"He's waiting for you, as requested. Sir," taking his overcoat and hanging it next to her own.

"Marvellous..." he muttered.

He hadn't seen Q since taking his car and leaving the Service high and dry. But... He was the Head of the SIS now, he thought, steeling his mind as he twisted the handle and stepped inside. Q, who had been sitting patiently waiting, stood and turned.

Bond hadn't known what to expect.

Really.

But... it wasn't this.


	2. Something Old, Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some readers can't see the images where they are on Tumblr, so I just thought the inspiration for the story deserved their own page...


	3. Chasm

“Q. You look well.”

Bond offered his hand. Q didn’t hesitate to take it in his own. Bond tried hard to reign back on returning a firmer grip than the one currently being inflicted on his digits.

“Bon- I mean, you too, M. Apologies. Old habits…” Q said, releasing his grip and glancing briefly downwards. Bond resisted perceiving the deference as feigned.

“…Deserve to die young. Habits can get a man in a lot of trouble in this job,” Bond said brusquely, rounding his desk and unbuttoning his outer suit jacket before taking his seat and gesturing Q to resume his own.

“You mean like ordering the same breakfast on four consecutive mornings whilst awaiting a target in a hotel in Madrid? I couldn’t agree more.”

Bond, who had been opening his laptop, paused to meet his gaze. “Pretty certain that particular nugget was redacted from my files…”

Q merely extended him a close-lipped smile. “Was it?” he replied, without further elaboration.

He leaned forward and opened his own laptop. Bond cleared his throat. Q tapped the keys for a few seconds before saying, “Moneypenny kindly restocked the whiskey today. There’s a Talisker in the cabinet behind your left, I believe.”

Bond, almost stood without thinking, whether or not Q had noticed, he didn’t know, but he did note the raised eyebrow when Bond reached for the carafe of water on his desk and filled two tumblers.

“And some habits deserve to be laid to rest when they’ve outlived their purpose, don’t you think?” Bond enquired, lifting the glass and tipping the rim forward before bringing it to his lips, quietly delighted he’d surprised the man.

“You’re… teetotal?”

Bond chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not after 7pm.”

Q heaved a sigh of relief before resuming his typing. “Thank Christ for that. I briefly wondered if I’d taken the blue pill by mistake…”

Bond frowned, unable to place the reference. Q merely rolled his eyes. “Still more of a classics, less of a sci-fi aficionado then. Glad the world hasn’t completely tipped off its axis,” he said.

“So, shall we get started?” he continued quickly. “Both of us are busy men and there’s a lot with which to bring you up to speed.”

Bond looked at his screen, currently being shared with what Q was seeing on his. He reached for his glasses with a sigh. “This is going to fry my synapses isn’t it?”

“Those you haven’t already killed off? Highly probable,” Q said, curtly.

Ninety-five minutes later, and his prediction had been correct. He’d kill for a drink to finish off whatever synapses remained. All in all, however, he could not hold back the admiration for all that had been achieved in the little over two years since his departure. Not that he’d expected the place to collapse without him. Still.

“So, 80% of Q-Branch staff now undergo preliminary field training?”

Q shut down the program, and Bond’s screen went blank, returning to the rolling collection of military helicopters he had stored on the display.

“Those we haven’t pilfered from other agencies yes. Those who want to support actual field agents rather than potentially be placed in the line of fire. Though obviously, the line of fire risk has decreased significantly since other forms of more stealthy cyber warfare have come to the fore. Still, it’s where MI6 retains an edge. Not relying entirely on technology and appreciating the effectiveness of the rogue unpredictable human element combined with the more stringent parameters of the cyber world has stood us in good stead. A worthwhile legacy amongst all the untold damage you wrecked on the world, Commander,” Q said, rising for his seat, though there was a teasing slant to the corner of his mouth when he said it.

“Are we done, M?”

Bond removed his glasses, a thoughtful expression on his face before he looked up at the Quartermaster.

“Well. Thank you for your time today, Sir. I’ll have more on where we are with active missions for you in the morning,” he nodded once and made for the door, completely forgetting he had not been dismissed.

That wasn’t what was preying on Bond’s mind in that moment however.

“Q.”

His hand gripped the door handle slightly tighter. He turned. “M?”

Bond couldn’t deny the void he felt throughout their meeting, seeded the day after their return from Shanghai. It had lain dormant for more than two years. Now, Bond could feel it seeding in the pit of his stomach; the absence of a familiarity they had once shared. Side by side but on opposite sides of the country, while the woman who had enlisted them both died in his arms.

“I brought back the Aston. It’s in the garage.”

Q gave a slight smile. Bond thought he caught a fleeting glance of the same look he’d worn the day he’d turned his back on MI6 and drove into the London skyline with Madeleine Swann.

“Thank you, Commander. The accountant will be beside herself with glee,” he said, turning back towards the door.

“Q.”

Bond heard the resigned sigh. Q turned and strolled purposely back towards the desk. The distance melted to nothing, though two years rendered a chasm between them. They were toe to toe, as though the mahogany monster was but a thin veil separating them.

“I know what you’re going to say, Bond, and yes, the answer is yes. We will be fine. We’re adults. The job always comes fir—“ he paused. “Well, that’s not exactly accurate is it. People, I mean, always come second.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few beats. Shanghai may have been a mistake, but Bond could never say he regretted it happening. Not one measure of the world’s finest bourbon worth of regret would ever touch that night.

It’s why he shut it down immediately as soon as they got back to London.

Q, on the other hand… He turned away once more.

“Three years is a long time in this job, Commander. Moving forward is a prerequisite for survival. One risks getting shot through the head otherwise. Or the heart. And I will never make that mistake again,” he finished, on the twist of the handle. He didn’t bother to close the door, allowing Bond to watch his retreating form stroll, with all the pent up purpose Bond remembered, towards the elevator. He nodded to Moneypenny as he passed her desk.

“Drink later, Q?” she enquired, putting her hand over the receiver of her phone.

“I’ll text you,” he mouthed, noncommittally, without breaking stride.

The lift was already there. He stepped into it and turned to face down his new boss. Eye contact was not dropped by either man, even on the sliding close of the door.


	4. No Fear, Nor Favour

It was late when Bond got to his house, just round the corner from Mansfield’s old place as it happened. It wasn’t standard procedure to house MI6 personnel in close proximity but sometimes hiding in plain sight was an important position to take. No fear, nor favour.

And Bond could still handle himself. Hadn’t let himself go soft despite the hiatus. Even after an arduous day of paperwork and power trips, his senses were still sharp so his defences were primed by the time he approached the shadowy silhouette, sequestered beneath the parapet of his front entrance, a silhouette he immediately recognised.

“Alec. Bit past your bedtime isn’t it?”

“My invite to the housewarming never arrived so thought I’d gatecrash your pad. Maybe catch up. For old times sake?” he said, dangling a bottle of Scotch in front of Bond.

Bond smiled. “Do you make a habit of gatecrashing your boss’ residence?”

Alec stepped to the side, allowing him access to the keypad.

“I seem to recall a particular incident involving you and Mansfield. Thought it’d be nice for you to experience the sensation from the other perspective,” he drawled.

The door swung open. “Come on then, crazy Russian fucker. Let’s crack open that bottle. I can spare an hour for a nightcap.”

Two hours later, and Bond realised he hadn’t laughed so much for as long a time. And as ever, once Alec got him all relaxed and boneless, he pounced.

“Why did you come back, James?”

Bond stood from the sofa they were sharing and walked over to the bay window. He watched for a moment the couple sat beneath a tree in the park opposite, two shadows moulded together. The night was warm and clear.

“Unfinished business,” he replied, simply.

“And this unfinished business…” Alec enquired casually, rising to join him by the window, swirling the contents of his tumbler, its sweet, subtle fumes dissipating before he gulped their amber source down greedily. “Do they know?”

“I’m not getting that far ahead of myself. There is a path I have to walk first.”

Alec clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Oh I think I’m going to enjoy watching you walking anywhere, and not blowing up a lot of shite en route.”

Bond huffed into his glass. “Give me some credit. I’ve had a lot of time to consider my options. I was gifted the opportunity to get out of the game before I did anymore damage to myself… or anyone else for that matter.”

Alec sprawled himself across the sofa again. “And since when have you cared for anyone or anything other than James fucking Bond?”

Bond let the liquid burn his throat and inhaled deep. “Skyfall.”

* * *

James watched Alec leave from his window, with the promise not to break his balls when they met “officially” as M and agent tomorrow afternoon. He’d returned a day early from mission, thanks to his able-minded Q-Branch handler who seemed to have a knack for unlocking shortcuts that didn’t get anyone killed. It was her personal “code” or “some other new age bollocks like that,” Alec had said. Bond couldn’t help but smile, thinking how the evolutionary point at which MI6 had arrived at this space in time, was borne out of Skyfall. A terrible sacrifice but a Phoenix birthed, a cleansing fire that had cleared the debris and allowed something new to blossom.

“Brave new world…” he whispered. Now he was part of it again, he hoped he could forge a place for himself.

A tawny, stray cat daintily jogging along the railing outside stopped, and cast golden green eyes in his direction, the tail of a mouse dangling from her mouth. Bond tipped his glass in acknowledgment, one predator to another. She carried on, satisfied her mission efforts had been noted.

Bond retired.

* * *

Q Branch was exactly as he remembered, at least, the soul of her was the same. But that was probably because the soul of the place was infused by—  
“Quartermaster! I come bearing gifts!” the diluted Russian accent boomed. Bond watched Q turn from whichever minion he was currently chastising with an irritated expression.

“Trevelyan! What have I told you about respecting my domain? Reign your mouth in if you please and leave your kit with my assistant. Every other agent has the sense and manners to oblige! I swear to God you’re like a cat who expects a reward for doing the job they were put on this Earth to do.”

By this point of course, Bond had been spotted by some wet-behind-the-ears boffin. “Sir! M?! Sir? Um… was there… um… something you-you needed, um, Sir?” Deer in headlights didn’t come close to describing the expression gracing the girl’s face. Well. A deer donning spectacles. He was feeling magnanimous this morning however, fortunately for this unsuspecting employee.

“Don’t trouble yourself… Thea, correct?” The girl’s eyes went wide and Bond guessed this one wouldn’t be destined for field duty any time soon. Her poker face was appalling… But, he still retained a mind for names and faces, a standard asset of any decent agent really.

“I’m just here for my morning meeting with the Quartermaster.” Thea fell into step beside him. Bond stopped abruptly, one ear still on the banter from Alec and Q, bandied around his periphery. He looked down at her, giving her his most average look of intimidation. “I know the way, don’t worry yourself,” he said, a quick nod on a turning heel told Bond at least she was a fast learner with decent survival instincts.

He had still gone unnoticed until he approached their position. “If he’s giving you any trouble, Q, I can have him shipped to the Orkney Islands for seal surveillance.”

Both men stopped their exchange and turned to face him. “M. You’re early,” Q said, and then, realising that perhaps wasn’t the best first thing to say to your new boss, he issued a correction to his flight path. “If you’ll give me a few moments I’ll just get Frobisher to forward the current mission updates so I can bring you up to speed.”

“That would be excellent, thank you, Quartermaster.”

Alec hadn’t budged of course. Stubborn bastard. “Don’t you have some paperwork to complete, 006?” Bond asked. “Before I change my mind about the Orkneys,” he finished. Q had retreated to his office and both men were aware they were being watched from the corners of eyes dotted throughout the expansive, open plan space.

“Of course. M…” Alec replied, beating a retreat towards the elevator. “2pm sharp, 006!” Bond gruffed loudly after him, knowing he’d probably pay for pulling rank later in some Russian ritual devised by the man. Still. Keeps him on his toes he supposed.

Bond turned towards the Quartermaster’s office and made his way towards his first of many meetings of the day. He’d since learned from his ongoing deep delve into personnel files that Q was the only suitably qualified member of Q Branch who hadn’t tagged himself for field operations to any of the Double O agents. This had been the case since The Skyfall Affair. Bond was the first, and last agent, to whom Q had loaned his skills and instincts.

Bond couldn’t deny, he was curious to understand why.


	5. Unfinished Business

Days became weeks.

Two of those days every week, Q and M would meet to discuss weapon and intelligence developments, shared with the Nine Eyes programme and in-house; missions - past, current and future - as well as any staff issues Q may have been experiencing, rare though that was, given the tight ship he ran that was Q Branch. He had an instinct about people. An instinct that was being severely tested given what he knew of Bond’s past endeavours and the man who had suddenly manifested once again in his life to replace the early retired Mallory.

On the occasions they met in his office, Bond would have a pot of Earl Grey primed and ready to pour. After the initial shock of that gesture, the following week, when Bo- _M_ , (he really must work on that) visited Q in his domain, he made sure to have one of the minions bring coffee from the independent barista across the road from River House. If M thought anything of the gesture returned, he didn’t comment.

The lack of volatility, the unpredictability, the arrogance with which he had grown so familiar in the year they had worked together as Q and Agent, gone.

To call it disconcerting, didn’t give the transition in personality the credit it deserved.

Moneypenny smiled at him over her glass of GTR. “People can change Q, are capable of growing, especially if their lifegoals change.”

Q mumbled something _almost_ indiscernible, though she thought he caught the words “devious” and “arsehole” somewhere in there.

She placed the glass on the table after a sip and leaned an elbow there, twirling the glass by the stem thoughtfully. Q was staring out the window of the pub at the commuters shuffling past the stained glass design. The Crow From Below, casting it’s beady eye inward toward them and outward to the homebound throngs.

“Have you considered flipping the… situation on its head?”

Q gave her a long side glance before turning his head and tilting it in curiosity. “Meaning?”

She leaned back again, bringing the glass with her, now that she had his attention. “Maybe what we’re seeing now _is_ the real Bond.”

Q scoffed, a flick of his hand dismissing her words. Moneypenny pressed on with her theory. Now that she knew she had his attention.

“Consider it. 007 was the mantle, the armour, the kevlar vest he had to wear as an MI6 Agent. The designation was a mask.”

Q was swirling the contents of his tumbler thoughtfully.

“Perhaps as M,” she continued, “what we’re seeing is the real deal. He’s not in the firing line any more. He’s alone. Nothing or no one to hide from. No one to protect except himself.”

Q was frowning now. Processing her words. He was about to weigh in with his opinion when Moneypenny’s mobile pinged. She sighed and pulled it from her inside jacket pocket.

Q watched the switch flick, her expression change from relaxed frivolity to Agent-in-Charge in a heartbeat. She stood, Q mirroring the move a split second later. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to leave. Now. With me, Q.”

“But wh—“

She raised one hand, and took his elbow with the other. “Hold that thought. Questions later.”

They exited the building at a quick but not too obviously rushed pace. Moneypenny checked her phone again, weaving them through the pedestrians towards Holborn Underground station. She put the phone to her ear.

“How long.” Pause.

“Where.” Pause.

They made their way down the escalator, Oystercards at the ready for the barrier. Q knew better to interrupt when she was in Agent mode. At least until they were on the tube.

They stood in silence on the platform, the train pulling in 30 seconds later.

He studied her face, hoping maybe he could discern what was happening from her expression. Rather than speak amongst the crowd of strangers, Moneypenny quickly typed out a text. Q’s phone pinged when the train picked up a signal at the next station.

He glanced at the screen. Two words. Two words he hoped he’d never have to read. Two words that made him wish that Bond had pulled the trigger on the bridge that night.

_Blofeld. Escape._

* * *

**_One Week Earlier_ **

There were some demons that could never be laid to rest, determined to haunt you forever and a day, even after showing them a little mercy. Of course, Blofeld had paid someone handsomely to find and kill Madeleine. His reach was still significant, despite his incarceration. Not that she ever found out that fact. Bond had invested in intel of his own. He may have been out of the Service, living under a new identity, but he understood his darling foster brother a little better than Ernst gave him credit for.

So when he went to visit him in his own personal, high security wing of HMP Wakefield, he tried not to be too smug about having beaten him to the punch.

A table was all that separated them in the dimly lit room. No guard was necessary. Blofeld smiled and sighed while taking the seat opposite.

“O Brother. Where Art Hast Thou Been?”

Bond did not respond.

“Tell me James. Any regrets? In life, love, the pursuit of happiness?”

The silence hung between them. But Bond was not here to make idle chat with the man. He had one purpose.

 _“Unfinished business….”_ The assassin’s dying words had haunted him. James was here with one purpose and one purpose only.

“You know why I’m here,” he said evenly.

Blofeld rested his elbows on the mental tabletop and interlaced his fingers before resting his chin on the back of his hands, fluttering his eyelashes. “Moi?” he said, innocently.

Bond stood with perfunctory nonchalance. Buttoning his suit jacket, he spoke with measured calm. “Touch him. Look his direction. If I smell one of your flying monkeys anywhere near him, I’ll break in here and finish the job I should have finished on that bridge.” He walked towards the door.

“Isn’t ironic how the smallest of mercies turn out to be our biggest regrets?” Blofeld called after him.

The door clanged shut. Bond didn’t spare a backward glance.

* * *

**_Now…_ **

“EVE! Oh My God, EVE! NO!”

Outside the safehouse, at which Alec had just dropped them off, Q had looked at the nondescript building nestled amongst the other terraced buildings while Eve retrieved her phone with its built-in contactless access code. A few hours to prep getting Q safe passage out of London, Alec had promised. He’d return for them shortly but needed to kit himself out for the unexpected trip. Blofeld had been expected to try something, but it had been a slow burn. He had waited until that one opportunity had presented itself. Patience was a virtue. For some. A virtue at least for those who didn’t want to use it to serve a little cold revenge upon a Quartermaster for destroying his grand vision.

Moneypenny could only watch from her prone position on the ground, consciousness slipping away from her, as the blood from the bullet wound in her back, bled on the steps of the entrance. The last thing she saw before slipping under, the terrified face of MI6’s Quartermaster being dragged into the back of a dark van.


	6. Interlude in PuLi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I was going to pass up the opportunity to put them in their original hotel room scenario together, did you?
> 
> Haven't you read my other 00Q?!
> 
> #AnyExcuse

**Three Years Ago…** ****

“I do _not_ get paid enough for this bollocks…” Arthur muttered to himself. At least his passport provided a fast track through Shanghai’s airport customs red tape. He was greeted at arrivals by a liaison from the British Embassy, pleased to note they had used his alias on the small placard being held by the young woman in question.

He stopped in front of her. She gave him an appraising look. His youth usually did throw people for a loop. “Mr Henshaw. Welcome to Shanghai,” she said, tucking the sign under her arm before turning towards the exit to the car waiting area. “Looking forward to the conference?” she enquired amiably.

“Highlight of my calendar year,” he replied with a tight smile. “But then, I don’t get out much.” She turned her head half towards him with a lopsided smile. She stood as tall as he did but did not come across intimidating. Arthur didn’t doubt that such character traits were reserved for the appropriate time and place.

They reached the car and piled in. “Your colleague, Mr Montague, is already roomed at the PuLi Hotel. I’m to take you there for rendezvous.”

“That would be marvellous, thank you. Ms…?” he hazarded. “You can call me Temple,” she replied, pulling the vehicle out of its space and into slow-moving traffic.

“Interesting name,” Arthur replied, stifling a yawn. “My father thought so,” she said. The traffic moving faster now. “We’ll be there in 35 minutes. Relax, Mr Henshaw. I’m sure the trip has taken its toll.”

Arthur wasn’t one to argue. He hated flying, but with Eve on compassionate leave and Q recovering in intensive care after the explosion at River House and frankly, unfit for such a long haul journey were he in good health, well, needs - and thank goodness for knockout pills - must and all that…

* * *

Forty-five minutes later and he was making his way down the corridor to Bond’s room. Unfortunately, sometimes the old ways _were_ still the best ways, loathe though Arthur was to make such an admission, but whoever was causing trouble for MI6 had been building to their grand crescendo for some time, so there was no telling yet how deep the infiltration went.

He stopped outside the door and inhaled a deep breath, and a slow exhale. They’d met for the first time three days ago in the National Gallery, where Arthur had been tasked with furnishing Bond with his tickets and tools for following the trail here.

_“I know we haven’t found a suitable replacement for Boothroyd yet, so I want you to convince Bond you’re the new Quartermaster…”_

M’s order still rang in his ears now. He’d proven himself a decent liar though.

_“He’s an arrogant arse but he needs to know there is still a chain of command to follow. If he even thinks you’re beneath him in the food chain…”_

_“Understood, M.” Arthur had replied without question._

And now, here he was. Maintaining the charade was going to be one of the biggest challenges of his career. He closed his eyes and knocked.

“If that’s Room Service, I didn’t order any extras this evening!” he heard the throaty call drift muffled through the door.

_Engage Sass Mode, full speed ahead, Commander…_

“Oh you most definitely couldn’t afford my services, Mr Montague,” Arthur replied, in a loud and steady tone.

It was a full twenty seconds before the door opened. Donned in nothing but a small towel. Arthur raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Wait… were you getting _undressed_ before coming to the door? Is that what took you so long?”

Bond crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe with the trademark agent stare that could bore holes in reinforced rubber. “Quartermaster. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

Arthur brushed past him. “Unexpected indeed. You knew very well I was coming, 007.”

“Well. I’d hoped…” Bond replied, pushing the door shut and turning to face him.

Arthur pointed to the desk by one of the windows. “Can I set up here?”

“Be my guest,” Bond countered. He returned to the bathroom, leaving the door open while he lathered up his face with shaving foam.

Arthur glanced around the room appraising, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except… “Oh bonus points to you, Mr Bond,” he called out, opening his laptop and seating himself down to boot up and retrieve the intel needed.

Bond’s cutthroat hovered over his jawline, pausing before contact. He poked his head out the door, frowning slightly. Arthur was stifling his smile. He knew he was throwing the man off his game and it delighted him.

“Excuse me?” he enquired, “I’m not accustomed to gaining bonus points until aft—“

“The Walther, Bond,” he said, cutting him off and tilting his head towards the bedside table. “Not dropped it into a river or let it get swallowed by a giant carp yet then.”

Bond smiled, stepping out of the bathroom. “I see details of previous exploits have reached young and tender ears. Boothroyd regaled some of my prior adventures with branch equipment, has he?” He sat himself on the edge of the bed, facing Arthur, who was most definitely _not_ looking at the view beneath the barely concealing towel.

“Not so young, Bond,” he replied levelly, tapping away and calling up files on screen that would furnish Bond with the information needed to target MI6’s assailant.

“But tender, I’ll bet.”

Arthur did look up then, noting that Bond was holding a cutthroat in his hand. His torso was tilted forward, elbows rested on his thighs. Arthur could feel the physicality of his stare.

Interesting. Invasive. _Admiring._

_Fuck._

He dragged his brain back to the task at hand. Until the parameters of that task… altered.

It was then Arthur realised maybe he’d taken the flirtatious banter at the National Gallery a little too far. The information was up and ready. So, it appeared, was one 007…

Before he knew what was happening, Bond had turned Arthur’s chair 45 degrees and was now kneeling on the rug in front of him. Arthur leaned back and tipped his head down to look at him over his glasses before pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

“What do you think you’re doing, Bond?” he said, surprising himself and it has to be said, the agent before him, with the calmness in his voice.

Bond held the cutthroat between his index finger and thumb, dropping it flat onto his palm with a smile; an offering, a challenge, a promise of trust between men of the Secret Service. Bluffs were being called.

_You can do this._

Arthur plucked the blade from his hand and with barely a pause, began to smoothly move around his jaw, neck and cheekbones. A rumble of approval erupted from Bond’s chest.

“Tell me, Q,” he said, while Arthur cleaned the blade on the towel resting on his left shoulder. He shuffled a little closer. “When we were flirting with each other three days ago, was that for show? Or were you telling me something?”

Arthur met the usually cold blue gaze with a dark brown stare that betrayed nothing. He made the last stroke and dragged the towel from his shoulder to clear away the remainder traces of foam.

“I think you think you can teach this new dog some old tricks, Commander Bond,” he whispered.

“If you don’t think it would be breaking the chain of command, it might be nice to try…” he replied, leaning closer, breath warm and clean.

As kisses go, it was a good thing both men were already close to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see what Bond saw... 
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/ohmsservice/167162106337


End file.
